


Of Kickass Grandmas and Pink Toads

by Evian_99



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Kickass grandma, Umbridge beware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 18:48:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12195588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evian_99/pseuds/Evian_99
Summary: Martha Callthorp was a perfectly respectable elderly lady with not a single drop of magical blood to boast of. She had been a nurse and a counsellor in the war, a teacher thereafter and a story writer after she had retired. One of the sort who creates fantastical worlds and epic adventures for the enjoyment of herself and everyone who bothers to read it.Now, despite what her magical stories might make one assume, she knew for a fact that magic wasn’t real. If it was, surely a lot of terrible things would have never happened, now would they? So why is seeing more and more of these unexplainable things? All these shadow-like creatures. Like the Dhaccuar from her latest series.While her doctor might not believe her, she knows she isn’t making it up. And when her story’s Gandalf shows up one dreary afternoon—might be everything will be explained after all.Or the one where a kickass muggle grandmother lands herself a job at Hogwarts and quickly establishes that no this is not how we treat our children. Umbridge beware.





	Of Kickass Grandmas and Pink Toads

“A magical wizardry school?” The old lady took a sip from her tea, not at all impressed. It was raining outside, as it was like to do in Britain, and her grandchildren hadn’t bothered to weather it. She was just reading through her daily accounts of the strange sightings of the Dhaccuar, when  _ this _ arrived on her doorstep. “Are you sure you aren’t the one delusional here, Sir?”

Her personal Gandalf smiled in amusement. His eyes twinkled, and he gave himself permission to sit across her at the table. “Quite, madam Callthorp. Hogwarts School of—”

No, no, no. “For the record: you are the headmaster of a damn—pardon my English—magical school and call it  _ Hogwarts _ ? Now that is a crime.” A polite knocking disrupted them. Martha looked at her watch. Her long-suffering doctor was here. Noticing Gandalf looking at the door, she said: “That’s Jason, my doctor. Go wait in the closet or something. I am not supposed to have visitors now.”

Gandalf didn’t move. And Martha wasn’t impressed. “Go safe some hobbits.”

Stiffly the old lady rose from her chair. With the help of her cane she shouted: “On the move, Jasey!” She didn’t have to hear to know he was sighing. “Good afternoon”, she brightly smiled.

“Sorry, Mrs. Callthorp, I don’t have much time to chat. Mr. Patterson has had an accident.” Jason looked tired and too old for his 21-odd naming days.

“Well, if you do find some time: I’d love a talk tomorrow.” She took the medicines from him. And—patting him on the shoulder—said: “Don’t make it too late. Have a good day, child.”

Jason shook his head softly, smiling all the while. “Take care, Mrs. Callthorp. Don’t forget to take them.”

When she closed the door again and managed to turn around, her Gandalf was still sitting at her table. “Okay,” Martha said, “I can’t keep calling you Gandalf in my mind. Would you like to bother to properly introduce yourself?”

That was what he was waiting for. This woman was what the school is missing. Reaching out for her hand, he shook it gently. “I am Albus Dumbledore. Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have come to you with a proposal.”

She stared at him for a few seconds. Second in which the headmaster started to feel a bit apprehensive. “I am listening.”

He released his breath in relief. Summoning a bag of lemon drops to start.

⊷ ★ ⊶

After a disastrous first lesson, Martha had slowly made her way to the greenhouses behind the school. There were no students present any more, she was glad to see. With a pang of pain from her hip, she lowered herself on a bench close to some delicious smelling flowers.

“Martha!” The voice sounded surprised. “What brings you here?”

She scooted over; making place for the herbology professor to sit. “Hello Pomona.”

The kind witch looked concerned. Placing her hand on the old woman’s thigh, she said: “What is bothering you?”

Martha shrugged. “I have had my first lesson.”

“And it didn’t go well?” Summoning two steaming mugs of tea, Pomona let some leaves of various herbs float to them. She expertly gave the boiling water a taste, after cooling it down a bit. “Here.”

“Thank you,” clutching it in her hands, not caring about the temperature, Martha continued: “The teaching went fine. Introduction as good as could be expected. Some questions, all answered. It is just—these children.”

“What about them? Did they give you trouble?”

The elderly woman shook her head. “They didn’t, Pomona. It’s just—never in all my years of teaching have I seen this. It shocked me. I knew before coming here that they wouldn’t be ordinary children. They have magic after all, but they are still supposed to be children.”

Frowning, the herbology professor shifted on the bench so she could better look at Martha. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“They aren’t normal children. Not children children. I reckon a good part of them have experienced various degrees of trauma. I have seen the eyes of a soldier who has seen too much.”

A silence fell.

“That poor blonde Slytherin, bend under the pressure of a choice no-one should’ve ever have to make. And that raven-haired boy. He has experienced years of abuse both physical as psychological. They need professional help. Someone they can truly trust.”

Pomona nodded. “I know. I have been trying for years to create a safe environment. But with all the biases still around between the houses—”

“Those biases should stop. I have experienced first-hand how they can cause unimaginable suffering. Children especially can suffer under it. If their parents or caretakers fail to give them safety and warmth, the school should step in. How could this come so far?”

It was a question Pomona didn’t know the answer to.

⊷ ★ ⊶

Martha was bristling with fury. One of her students had finally dared to approach her with her worries, and what she’d heard was so absurd she almost couldn’t believe her ears. So angry she was that she didn’t notice the gargoyle hastily jumping out of her way. Slamming the door open, she seethed: “What is the meaning of this, Albus?”

The headmaster calmly looked up from his parchments. “Afternoon, Martha. Please, take a seat.”

“I will not.”

Dumbledore raised his hands. “Very well. What do you want to speak with me about?”

“How can you  _ allow _ that—that pink toad to teach here?”

“It was a decision of the Ministry. There is naught I can do about it.”

The calmness of his tone set her of. “You are the bloody headmaster of this school! It is your responsibility to make sure that your students are safe. This despicable woman is molesting them!” Breathing heavily, she continued icily: “I don’t care if she was appointed by God herself: I want that woman gone.”

Dumbledore looked difficult. “And how do you suppose I do that?”

“Just watch. I am going to make her  _ wish _ she hadn’t been born.”

A shiver slid over his spine. O dear, he thought, she really will.

⊷ ★ ⊶

That night after dinner, Martha made her move. She approached the pink demon from Hell and pricked her with a finger. “We, young lady, have to talk.”

The ministry appointed professor didn’t appreciate the gesture. “Who do you think you are?” she said in a shrill voice, “Don’t you know who I am?”

“I wouldn’t care if you were Merlin himself.”

A silence fell in the hall. Everyone was watching her. Martha didn’t care. “Now, we have some serious talking to do, Dolores. It seems you don’t get the basics of normal human conduct.”

Colouring red in anger, Dolores raised her wand, but Martha expertly took it from her.

“You won’t be needing that, darling.” Grabbing her at her hideous pink collar, the whole school watched on how their new kickass professor dragged Umbridge from the Great Hall.

When the doors closed behind them, Ron said one thing: “Wicked.”

⊷ ★ ⊶

That day was the last day Dolores Jane Umbridge, newly appointed High Inquisitor of the Ministry of Magic, ever set a foot in Hogwarts. She felt ashamed. Defeated by a muggle granny. What a laugh.

Still, she was a respectable witch, and would walk her walk of shame with pride. A bit of manipulation would right it all. High heels clicking on the marble floor of the Ministry, Dolores set her face in determination and took a deep breath to report.

Fudge was not impressed. “So, I have to believe you were defeated by a  _ muggle _ grandmother?”

“Well, she is not an  _ ordinary  _ muggle. But—Yes.” This was not going well. She felt a sliver of fear rising. Surely that woman hadn’t made true of her threat?

Suspicion rose when minister Fudge looked inappropriately pleased. Placing an opened envelope on the table, he calmly said: “You see, Dolores, I have been visited by this muggle lady, and we have had a curious talk. She also gave me curious photos. Care to explain?”

Slowly, and filled with apprehension, Dolores opened the envelope. There were pictures of her punishments. Terrible, accurate pictures. Her heart sank. “Please, minister, you have to hear me.”

“I think I’ve heard enough. You have committed heinous crimes, Dolores. And you will be tried for them. Please go quietly with you escort.”

The door of the office opened. In came two aurors. The game was played. She had lost. And just when the door was closed behind her, she heard Fudge thank the muggle professor. Dolores seethed with fury: she had overheard everything! Destroyed everything!

Oh, how she would make her pay.


End file.
